


the flower blooming in adversity (is far more precious than any jewel)

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [87]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, just to clarify: i didn't actually describe the procedure but i had imagined it more as like, so no it's not surgery, something like electroconvulsive therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 13:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20154691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: They've been through a lot together—but this is far more frightening to Hermann than even the frightened rasp of Newton's voice that day at Shao Industries.





	the flower blooming in adversity (is far more precious than any jewel)

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "Hi there! Love your stuff! It's like insanely good and you're so good at working with whatever you're givein in new and unexpeted ways! What do you think you could do with this (if you want to of course!)? Newton- maybe he was meant for madness. Hermann wasn’t sure he wanted to believe that just yet."

“I’m scared, Hermann,” Newt says; voice pleading; eyes wide as they wheel him away, strapped to the gurney. Hermann, at his side, swallows; reaches out a hand to the biologist. The other, on his cane, grips tight; Otachi’s teeth, carved from her offspring’s vertebra, dig into the tips of his fingers.

Newt’s fingers grip his hand harder; enough that he knows it’ll bruise there, later; doesn’t seem to register it—Hermann himself barely registers it, his entire field of vision narrowing to Newton, rail-thin, shivering beneath a flimsy white medical gown, hooked up to various intravenous medications.

He rubs his thumb against Newt’s hand in a vain effort to comfort; croaks, “It’ll be alright, Newton, I promise.”

He doesn’t know.

Newt might die in there, and Hermann can tell from the panic in his eyes that the other, even in his barely-lucid state, knows that as well. He swallows again. “I’ll be waiting for you, Newton. I’ll be by your side the entire time.” He pauses; Newt’s eyes grow ever glassier; his gaze no longer fixed on Hermann, but rather, on some vague middle-distance. “I’ll be by your side the entire time, Newton—you just have to come home to me.”

The last bit is whispered; caught on the rise of a dreadful, hideous snarl of pain rising in his throat, and he’s not sure Newt hears it.

“Doctor Gottlieb?”

It’s one of the nurses; white on white on white, the only colour that of concern inked into the lines on her face. “We’re just about ready to start,” she says, gently, “are you sure you want to stay…? No one would fault you for not wanting to—you’ve already stood by his side for so much.”

“No, I—” he pauses; glances at Newt’s hand where it’s fallen limply from gripping his own, and onto the gurney. Gently, he grasps it in his own. “I need to be there,” he says, voice trembling. “I promised—I promised him I’d be there for the entire procedure.”

She nods. “Of course,” she says, softly. Before she steps away, she says, “Doctor, if…if anything goes wrong, don’t blame yourself. I know you care about him a lot, but…he wouldn’t want you to, yeah?”

Hermann gives a jerky nod; wonders if it’s always been that obvious; the caring.

* * *

It starts like this: Newt’s head, bloody, lolls onto his shoulder; limp limbs jolting as he seizes; Hermann, frantic, drops to the floor beside him; gathers him in his arms, heedless of the way the Pons set digs into his shoulder, or the blood smearing on his clothes as Newton seizes again, head falling so his face is buried against Hermann’s chest.

It starts like this: Newton’s head, bloody, held up in defiance that is not his own; fingers scraping against the restraints hard enough to rub them raw; voice multi-faceted; and when it’s over, the Precursors no longer wishing to bother with speech, turning inwards to torment their host—Newt writhes and screams, and then, later, shudders and moans, tears streaming from unseeing eyes down his cheeks, whetting dried and cracked lips. Hermann stands on the other side of a two-way mirror, and thinks, perhaps, that he can hear his heart break.

It starts like this: an offer of an experimental, high-risk treatment that might excise the Precursors from Newt’s tortured mind; a hundred warning labels and a thick folder of paper on everything that might go wrong. Whispers, all around him, wondering why he’s trying to save Newton Geiszler—the man who loved monsters; the man meant for madness.

Newt—maybe he _is_ meant for madness.

Hermann isn’t sure he wants to believe that just yet.

* * *

It takes four hours for Newt’s monitor to show his brainwaves begin to approach human baseline.

Hermann stays in the room the entire time; spends half of it sitting by Newton’s side in a chair, desperately clinging to his hand; praying to god that this works; that Newt gets _better._ The only thing that keeps him from hyperventilating from anxiety is the iron-clad grip conviction that he _must_ stay lucid for when Newton wakes.

Finally, the monitor beeps; begins inching towards what one of the technicians inform him is “normal”.

Hermann lets out a shuddering breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding; reaches out to brush away the strands of hair stuck to Newt’s sweat-beaded forehead. Newt shifts, just slightly, brows creasing, lips puckering. “Shhh,” Hermann murmurs, rubbing his thumb against the other’s clammy hand, “it’s alright, Newton. I’m here. You’re doing well, _liebste, _shhhh…”

After a moment, Newt’s face slackens, expression evening out, as if he’s heard Hermann’s words. Hermann blinks rapidly, trying to ward off tears. Maybe, just maybe, for once…everything _is_ going to be okay.

And then—

“It’s over, Doctor,” one of the nurses informs him; relief seeping into his voice as he says, “it worked.”

Hermann sags against the back of his chair. “Thank you,” he manages; barely.

They move Newton to another room; change the fluid medications out; offer Hermann an extra pillow to wedge between his back and the hard plastic of the chair. Hermann takes the pillow with a murmur of thanks, and then the team is gone, leaving him alone with an unconscious Newton.

He dozes, Newt’s hand in his own.

* * *

When he wakes up, Newt’s propped up against the wall by multiple pillows, weakly playing with his fingers. When he notices Hermann’s woken up, he gives a barely-there grin. “Mornin’, sunshine.”

His voice is thin and reedy; breaks halfway through the second word and trails off into a croak, but in that moment, Hermann thinks it’s the most imperfectly perfect thing he’s ever heard.

Hermann smiles back at him. “The procedure went flawlessly,” he breathes, barely daring to believe it.

“It did,” Newt agrees, “and…you were there for me the whole time. Thank you, Hermann.”

The soft acknowledgement—the admission that Newt _had,_ indeed, heard his promise, makes emotion well up in Hermann’s chest. “Of course I was,” he chokes out.

Newt doesn’t say anything in reply, but he squeezes Hermann’s hand, and, for a split second, Hermann’s enveloped in the bright warmth of _love_ echoing across a bond he’d thought no longer existed.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [pacificrimdyke](https://pacificrimdyke.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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